The Past Can Hurt
by ihadanepiphany
Summary: Was reading the Night Watch and a plot bunny bit. First time writing a Discworld, dont punish me too hard!
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: I am not Terry Pratchett, I have no money, sue me not.

AUTHOR: ihadanepiphany

This is my first try at a Discworld fic, though I've been writing Star Wars for a while, so do be kind and tell me where I'm going wrong. 

Basically, I was reading Night Watch and my mind latched onto when Nobby said that he didn't want to go to the Tanty because Sconner was there and it wouldn't let go until I started this. So read review and possibly flame.

Sentences between * * mean thoughts okay?

Try and enjoy.

            It was 12:30 and Ankh-Morpork was its usual Saturday night self. Watchmen, women, dwarves, trolls and other *1) were patrolling, nodding occasionally to the various bar patrons that whizzed by horizontally about window height. 

Normally Sergeant Fred Colon and Corporal Nobby Nobbs would be doing the same thing, occasionally even going over to the landing site of said patrons to "investigate the situation." But not tonight.

Tonight, they were patrolling one of the quieter parts of the city, near Cockbill Street. They were supposed to be doing Gleam Street, but Nobby had arrived in a funny mood and Colon had swiftly swapped beats. He'd seen lots of people in that mood and usually he'd have stuck with Gleam Street and let him get it out of his system before heading to the pub for a few hours. But the sight of Nobby with that look had unnerved him enough to go for a quiet beat; Nobby half homicidal half polite all pissy was not an everyday occurrence and he wasn't quite sure what he'd do.

*The last time I seen him like this* Colon thought, glancing at Nobby *Was when that messenger came, about ten years ago was it?*  his train of thought was derailed by Nobby stopping dead. Fred's feet stopped before the rest of him, having learnt long ago that if another copper stopped and you didn't you might not live to regret it.

 'What is it?' he hissed after he won against gravity, barely. Nobby didn't say anything, just stared at a house on their left. It looked just like every other house in the row: dirty, dishevelled, squashed mercilessly by its neighbours. And no soundproofing worth a damn.

Colon winced inwardly when he heard what Nobby had stopped for, shouts, yells, a thin terrified voice raised in pleading protest. And, of course, the sound of a punching fist.

 'Domestic disturbance,' he said. He looked at Nobby, wondering why it was suddenly affecting him so much after all the ones he'd attended over the years, even rookies grew immune to them after the first half-dozen which in a city like Ankh-Morpork was within a week. Nobby didn't say anything. 'Disturbing the Peace,' Fred said after a moment, not being able to stand the noise inside and the silence outside anymore. Nobby still said nothing, just strode toward the house leaving the astonished sergeant to catch up. *2) 

A middle-aged unshaven man –with such a stench of whiskey emanating from him that both Fred and Nobby looked for a way to breathe through their earholes- opened the door after a few minutes of pounding and "Night Watch, open up!". With a glance, the two Watchmen could probably have told his life story; big man in a little group had big dreams of big success and big riches and instead got filthy little back-end job, living in a filthy little back-end house. His lawyer –should any go within a barge pole length of him- would probably use words like "snapped" and "frustration" and "venting" but Nobby and Colon weren't lawyers and they weren't looking for excuses.

 'We've had a complaint about this place,' Colon said after the whole introduction identification we'd-like-to-ask-you-some-questions-so-you'd-better-hope-we-don't-catch-on rigmarole.

 'Oh yeah?' the man asked, wiping his hands on his already heavily stained vest. Glancing at them, both coppers noted the raw and bloody knuckles. 'By who?'

 'That's not important,' Colon told him a bit more coldly; having subtly changed his position he could now see past the man into the room beyond. 'What's important is that you're disturbing the peace.'

 'An' its not the first time neither,' Nobby added.

The man, buoyed up by his inflated sense of self-importance, spread his hands and shrugged innocently.

 'Is it my fault if they wont keep their mouths shut?' Colon didn't move a nano-meter; he really didn't want to see Nobbys reaction to that little piece of evidence. There was a moment of silence.

 'They?' Nobby asked quietly, far too damn quietly in Fred Colon's opinion.

 'Wife and kid,' the man replied, obviously, and wrongly, thinking that he had found kindred spirits. 'They keep getting outta line you know? Gotta teach him lessons, show him who's boss.'

*Oh Gods* Fred thought in the ensuing silence. *If this guy cant tell a killing mood when its in front of him, I'd better arrest him now for his own bloody protection* *3)  

 'I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name,' Colon said after shifting his weight ever-so-slightly but ever-so-significantly in front of Nobby.

 'Grimes,' the man replied, extending a hand with a smile. 'John Grimes.' Fred took the hand, slapped a cuff on the wrist, pivoted the surprised man expertly and caught the other wrist before Grimes knew what was happening.

 'Mister John Grimes,' he said, standing back slightly but maintaining a vice-grip. 'I hereby arrest you for disturbing the peace, for admitting to disturbing the peace *4), for past events of disturbing the peace, for admitting to past events of disturbing the peace…'

 'What the hell do you think you're playing at?' Grimes roared. 'You can't do this!' He twisted violently so that Colon lost his grip, though Colon saw what Grimes didn't and let him.

 'For telling a Watchman his job, for resisting arrest…' *5)

Grimes spotted that he could knock Nobby off the steps and escape. What he hadn't spotted was Nobbys steelcapped boots and what he hadn't reckoned on was the owner's anatomical precision with said steelcapped boots.

 'For intending to escape arrest, for attempted escaping arrest, for intending to injure a Watchman during escaping arrest, for attempting to injure a Watchman during escaping arrest.' Colon paused for breath and looked to Nobby. 'How about we tell him the rest on the way?' 

 'Sure,' Nobby said, looking at the heap that was John Grimes huddled in his own little world. His eyes flicked to the half-open door around which Grimes's family were peeking. 'But they're coming with us.'

*1) This /was/ Ankh-Morpork.

*2) Usually, Cpl. Nobby St. J. Nobbs has a personal danger radar that would put household pets and even ship rats to cringing shame. Other coppers use him as a kind of thermometer to gauge "situations." In normal times Nobbys infamous boots would not be threatening to break down doors, but currently walking streets on the other side of Morpork with Nobby inside them. But as it has been pointed out, these are not normal times.

*3) And the Being Blood Stupid Act of 1581

*4) Being Bloody Stupid Act of 1581 again.

*5) For centuries the city i.e. the ruling minority, has struggled against the non-ruling majority's unsatisfactory habit of bending, breaking or just plain ignoring the laws by creating more in the hope that eventually the sheer weight of the accumulated laws would make people behave properly and not go around being people. It hasn't quite had the desired effect just yet, but coppers tend to find all the extra laws handy and put them to good use.

When Sgt. Colon and Cpl. Nobbs strode into the Watch House half-dragging half-carrying Grimes not many of the other coppers took any notice; it was Saturday night after all and they had their own jobs to do. The only one who took any interest in them was Cpl. Ping and that was only because as duty officer that night it /was/ his job to take notice of such things.

 'I'll go chuck him inna cell,' Colon said after the books that receipts had been signed and witnessed.

 'Yeah,' Nobby replied. 'I'll bring these two to Igor.'

The "these two" that Nobby was referring to were Grimes's wife and nine year old son. Ping started to open his mouth about how Igor wasn't supposed to work on people that weren't Watch, suspects or witnesses, took one look at their condition, a glance at Nobby and shut it again.

 'What's up with Nobby?' he asked Colon when the trio disappeared and the Sgt. Reappeared. 'I've never seen so, so, /that/.'

 'Anniversary,' Fred replied bluntly. He'd been wondering that very same thing the whole trek back to the Watch House carrying that heavy bastard it was the only explanation he could come up with. Ping seemed to understand however, as he made some kind of gesture towards the door to Igor's cellar.

 'No good ever comes from anniversaries,' he said on seeing Freds odd look.

 'Couldn't agree with you more,' Colon sighed as he went to make his report. 'Couldn't agree with you more. 

A while later, Nobby left Igor's cellar in a bit of a dream. Igor had checked the wife and kid – Selma and Ben he remembered – over before ordering a big meal for them both. While they were gobbling down the unexpected boon, Igor drew Nobby aside.

 'Domestic was it?' he asked quietly.

 'How'd ya tell?' Nobby replied a bit grumpily.

 'The difference between new and old injuries ishn't that difficult to spot,' Igor told him, a touch icily. 'There's some old shpots that need patching, some new bruishing, but beyond that all they need is a better diet.' *6)

 'Thanks Igor,' Nobby sighed. 'Give us a shout when they're ready to talk.'

 'Will do,' Igor said, before turning to another patient.

*New bruising* Nobby thought, walking through the Watch House, not paying any attention to where he was going. The hour of the morning meant the Saturday night revelries had passed and Ankh-Morpork was back to its normal state of chaos, *7) so Nobby didn't really have to know where he was walking his feet were guiding him to bed anyway. He shuddered as he thought of exactly how many things that could mean, and being a copper that meant quite a long list. He thought again of how he and Fred had come to that particular house. 

They had stopped because they arrested him. They had arrested him because that found out what he was doing. They found out what he was doing because they stopped. They stopped because Nobby heard the son. He heard the son because his cries had mirrored Nobbys thoughts.

*_No daddy! Please! Stop!_* Nobby stopped dead as that cry ripped through his mind, dredging up memories as feelings he had buried years ago. *_I wont do wrong anymore daddy, I'll be good. I'll be good daddy, please? Daddy?_*

 'Easy lads,' a Watchdwarf was saying, taking advantage of the lessened traffic flow and extra hands in the Watch House to supervise the moving of a filing cabinet from one place to another. Lost in the awful memories, Nobby didn't hear them. 'Take it easy lads!' the dwarf shouted as the cabinet started to overbalance.

*_Please daddy no!_* 

 'Look out!' the dwarf yelled as the heavy cabinet ponderously and inevitably started toppling. People dived out of the way of the thing, except for Nobby who didn't notice the half-ton of wood and metal falling on top of him. An entering troll spotted the problem, lunged over and, catching Nobby, flung him across the room just before the filing cabinet fell to the wooden boards with a crash that lifted the desks. There was a careful few moments while everyone picked themselves up, dusted themselves down and looked to see if Nobby Nobbs was under it. * 8)

 'Why?' Nobbys muffled voice was heard to say. 'Am I upside-down in a pile of cloaks?' 

 'You'd prefer to be squashed flat under a cupboard?' a relieved constable asked, helping the bewildered corporal to his feet from where the cloak stand used to be.

 'Less of that bloody cheek,' Nobby growled, then winced as an all-too familiar pain made itself known in his arm. 'Gods dammit,' he grumbled, picking his way through the scattered paperwork, pens mugs and other miscellaneous item that had come off the desks towards Igor's cellar. 'And clean this place up!' he yelled.

Catching the eye of the dwarf who had been in charge of the whole thing, the troll picked up the filing cabinet, which had taken three men and two dwarves to shift, with one hand and deposited it gently in its new spot.

*6) To the more observant person, there may be slight differences to this new Igor as opposed to more traditional Igors. No, the constant quest for self-improvement and subsequent scars are there. No, the love of a good big thunderstorm and the ability to make lightning do what metrologists break into cold sweats over is also there. As is the knack for making that little purple bit stop messing about and do what it's supposed to do. /This/ Igor breeds prosthetics in jars, potatoes in aquariums calls no man "Master" and only lisps when he remembers to. See?  

*7) To the newcomer the transition is not readily apparent. Mainly the difference is the amount of reports being written about the Saturday night chaos during the everyday chaos.

*8) The particular stance used by everybody looking belongs in the pages of The Book of Stupid Things People Do. The feet are flat on the floor and stay there, the hands are either in pockets or arms are crossed, there's an expression like the person is investigating the contents of a back tooth and the body is tilted turned and slanted until the watcher can see what's going on.

Igor looked up from Nobbys arm with a stern look.

 'I know its broken,' Nobby said to get it over with.

 'Really? Igor asked in mock astonishment. 'What's the next part of my job that you'll tell me how to do?' he moved over to his instruments and, selecting one, began setting the bone, Igor fashion. 'It's not a clean break, very near the wrist but still a doddle to fix.' He worked in silence for a moment as Nobby tried to ignore the pain, which was less than he expected. 'There are some other breaks here as well,' he said conversationally. 'Three lower and one upper.'

 'Two upper,' Nobby corrected unthinkingly, then stopped, annoyed at himself.

 'Quite an adventurous life you had as a child,' Igor went on, as if he hadn't heard. 'Falling off walls and out of trees, yes?'

 'Yes,' Nobby lied woodenly.

 'How strange then how they are all clean, normally an impact fracture is uneven. All these breaks are more like snaps.' Igors mis-matched lifted to look into Nobbys. 'And doubtless if I were to look I would find the same on the other arm.' *9)

 'Maybe, I don't remember,' Nobby said sullenly, he felt like a child under that piercing but not unkind gaze. *_I'm sorry daddy_* 

 'There's one that isn't set properly,' Igor said after a moment, dropping his eyes back to his task again. 'Just above the elbow. I can reset it.'

 'Yeah whatever.' But Igors hands had already done the job with professional skill.

 'There,' he said after a few minutes. 'All done. Don't use that arm till the day after tomorrow,' he warned Nobby, bundling the arm securely in a sling. 'And you're off duty for four days, those breaks are too near the joint to be messing about. Do you hear me Corporal?'

 'Sure,' Nobby mumbled.

 'And if you should remember anything about how your arms came to get such injuries,' Igor began.

 'Thanks,' Nobby said, before turning and leaving the cellar.

Fred Colon had just finished his report and was chatting to the constable behind the main desk; Ping had finished duty, before he went home when Nobby came up from the cellar with his arm in a sling.

 'What the hell happened?' Colon asked when Nobby passed.

 'Filing cabinet incident,' Nobby replied sourly. Automatic copper instinct made Fred look at his fingers. 'Bloody thing fell, Slate chucked me outta the way, arm broke.'

 'Ah, right,' Colon said, the relief palpable. 'So where are you off to?'

 'Gotta tell Mister Vimes I'm on leave don't I?' Nobby said as he left, pointing to his sling as evidence.

 'Till when?'

 'Thursday night.'

 'See you then Nobby,' Colon shouted after him. Nobby waved a hand with out turning around. He trudged up the stairs to the Commanders office and disappeared from Freds puzzled view.

*Since when does Nobby tell Mister Vimes when he's on leave?* 

Sir Samuel Vimes was wondering the same thing. Normally Cpl. Nobby Nobbs just told someone and rightly expected the grapevine to tell Vimes or told him himself when he was cornered the next day. Never had he actually told Vimes himself _before_ he took leave.

*Well almost never* Vimes reminded himself. *There was that one time about ten years ago wasn't there? Something about a messenger?* His recollection of the time period in question was so full of holes it couldn't even be used for a net –crawling into whiskey bottles for years will do that- but he remembered that, mainly because it was one of the few days where he was mainly sober and the shock of Nobby _asking_ for leave had shoved aside the alcohol long enough for it to be put down on record.

 'Grandmas funeral is it?' Vimes asked jokingly, he had heard the filing cabinet even up here.

 'No sir,' Nobby said. Vimes frowned slightly, he had been expecting something like, no sir that's next week.

Captain Carrot, standing to the left and behind Nobby noted the frown, but amazingly enough, Nobby didn't.

 'For how long?' he asked at last.

 'Four days,' Nobby replied. Vimes and Carrot shared a swift look, Igors report was already being digested by the Paperwork and both had expected him to exaggerate. *What's up with him?* flashed across bother their minds, though in Carrots case a little note was tagged on the end of the thought to find out and help.

Vimes filled out the appropriate form and passed it across to Nobby who signed, saluted and left.

 'Sir,' Carrot began, before Vimes gestured him into silence. He waited until he heard Nobby go down the stairs, then got up and went to one of the dust-covered cabinets behind the door,

 'Sir, what are you looking for?' Carrot asked as Vimes sifted through the papers, sneezing and cursing at the dust. *10)

 'This,' Vimes replied, puling out a sheet of paper. The Night Watch when it was just him, Fred, Nobby and Leggy Gaskins didn't generate that much paperwork and leave slips were the rarest. 'What's the date?'

 'Fifth of may,' Carrot answered, a bit puzzled. 'What's that?'

 'Nobby asked for leave once before,' Vimes explained. 'And it was,' he squinted at the faded ink. 'Ten years ago, exactly.' He sat in his chair, musing the mystery.

 'May I see?' Vimes passed the slip over silently. 'There's no reason,' Carrot pointed out.

 'There was a messenger that night,' Vimes muttered,' Vimes muttered. 'Dandy fop from the palace, all nose and sneer. Came looking for Nobby verbal message.' He stared at the Paperwork in front of him, willing the unfocused memory to become clear. 'Something about the Tanty?'

 'Why would a Palace Messenger came to give a message from the Tanty?' Carrot asked, thoroughly dislodging the Commanders train of thought.

 'Any time someone died in the Tanty, the Palace sent a messenger to the closest family.' Vimes made a face. 'Personal touch and ultimate humiliation combined. In most parts of the city it was a family's worst nightmare seeing a Palace messenger coming up the street, or a dream come true.' He stopped as the last piece snapped into place. 'Sconner!' he nearly shouted. '_Sconner_ died in the Tanty.' He remembered the look on Nobbys face earlier that evening. 'Oh Gods,' groaned.

 'What is it sir?' Carrot asked, not having all the information he hadn't made the leaps Vimes did.

 'Nothing I can do anything about,' Vimes said grimly. *I just hope he picks somewhere quiet to get it out of his system.'        

*9) In working for coppers, Igor had picked up a few tricks. One of them was direct eye contact when someone had something to hide and in this he was rather advantaged as most people would admit to _anything_ rather than try to look Igor in the eyes. Of course appearing concerned had a factor in this tactic but not much.

*10) The paperwork had survived the fate of Treacle Mine Lane by not being there at the time of the dragon. When Cubby arrived and began his piecemeal destruction Colon had, for some unknown reason, decided to take it home for safe-keeping. Not because the wage bill was in it and he couldn't find it in the two minutes he had so he grabbed everything. Of course not. But however it happened, the paperwork had survived and was moved to Pseudopolis Yard where it was filed in order and in a big new filing cabinet, left behind the door and promptly forgotten about.

Good? Bad? Indifferent? Click that little review button and tell me! Or The Sunshine Sanctuary will be told that you mistreat dragons. So be warned!


	2. Chapter 2

I am so sorry that this took so long, but I thank all you who reviewed and finally got me to do the second half of this story. I hope it was close to worth the wait.

Chapter 2

Wherever the local population goes above 50, one a certain kind of pub appears. The floor is never swept even in the most health-conscious of places, the lights are never above dim, the pool table never gets played, there's either no music or terrible country 'n' western and the barkeep is always in a god mood 'cos he/she/it knows that the statutory minimum of three drunks fossilized at the bar are lightening rods for every kind of bad luck there is. It's a place people talk and never get listened to, but that's okay because they don't expect to be listened to, they just talk. Or else they sit and stare into a drink all night, projecting a depression field that could dampen Genuas mood on Fat Tuesday. It's always quiet, but in Ankh-Morpork at least, the barkeeps make more money than the Broken Drum, if only because they don't have to pay for damages.

Nobby stared glumly at the ground as he walked, unknowingly steering for the pub that everyone in the city calls to at least once. It was like the Biers in its selectivity, only those so low they couldn't look up got called and tonight, Nobby was top of the list.

The barkeep looked up from nodding understandingly1) as the door opened noiselessly and Nobby slunk in, heading for a bar stool.2) A pint was automatically filled and set out and just as automatically drank. The barkeep silently handed the off-duty corporal another p9nt and turned back to the swaying storyteller, you learned who to leave alone in this job.

About an hour later, the door opened again and a rather pretty red-head walked in and sat at the bar, beside Nobby. The barkeep got her a drink which in a cheerier place would have had an umbrella and a cheery in it and refilled Nobbys pint.

 'Nobby,' the woman said after a round of silence.

 'Cat,' Nobby replied.

 'Haven't seen you here in a while.'

 'Sconner.' There was a few moments of silence in which the muffled drunken sobs of a former high-flier could be heard. Cat looked Nobby over expertly.

 'Another trip?' she asked eventually. 'Or just a fall this time.'

 'Filing cabinet and an over-zealous Igor actually.'

 'Learnt better excuses then I see.'

 'Had a lot of practise.'

 'So I heard.' In the silence that followed the barkeep refilled both glasses, casting an expert eye over Nobby as he did so. The beslinged Corporal had been sinking them on a regular basis since he'd walked in and the barkeep was still nosy enough to want to be here when the floodgates opened.

Nobby stared into his pint, carefully not putting any weight on his arm Amazing how the tricks come back to you huh? as he leant on the bar. He knew Cat for years, she was one of his so-few-as-to-be-non-existent friends growing up, from even before the whole business with John Cale. They had made a good team then, she distracted, he lifted, simple. They knew everything about each other, still did, even though he was a corporal in the now-respectable Night Watch and she was still right in the bottom layer of the City's strata.

 'Old Ricks back from Quirm,' Cat murmured after a while.

 'I know,' Nobby muttered, she was also one of his many sources throughout the city and was his most reliable.

 'Did you know that he and Thin Don are blagging Gimlet Thundergusts place Thursday night?' Nobby thought, then took out his notebook and wrote it in carefully, like Vimes always said and the recruits were just learning, coppering was a 26hour, 8day a week job.

 'When ya back on?' Cat asked as he closed his notebook with a snap and stowed it away somewhere.

 'Four days.' He caught Cats disbelieving look. 'Seriously, we've got an Igor now, works wonders.'

 'Could've done with one of them a few years ago then, eh Nobby?' she half-laughed. Nobby shrugged and knocked back the last third of his pint. Cat looked at him for a few moments before she finished her own drink and stood.

 'Well,' she said. 'The money won't walk to me.'

 'But the one carrying it will,' Nobby finished their old saying with a grin. Cat smiled sadly and left enough coin on the bar to pay for her drinks and melted into the brightening morning outside.

The barkeep glanced at the clock then around at the bar. Most of the customers had either passed out or left and his shift was nearly over. But still Nobby ploughed through his pints on a conveyer belt basis. The barkeep picked up Nobbys tab and handed it to him, watching him like a hawk. Nobby handed the money over with barely a glance, which in itself was worrying enough in this city of money-pinchers but added to the earlier behaviour caused alarm bells to ring in the barkeeps head. He hesitated for a moment before leaving two pints in a line in front of Nobby, hanging up his apron and scuttling out the door in search of a Watch man.

Nobby didn't even notice.

1) Nodding understandingly was an important criteria for this job as was the ability to listen to basically the same story hundreds of times over with only small variances. The barkeep was one of the best.

2) At that same instant, one of the other drunks unsteadily got up and left. There is only ever three drunks staying at the bar, no more no less, ever. Sometimes transient beings occupy the extra stools but they soon leave, pressured by the force which is only knows as The Way Things Are.

==========================================================================================================

 'Who's that?' Constable Thighbreaker looked to where Constable o' Day indicated, a man was coming down the road in the manner of someone who was not altogether sure that it's a good idea to be there. He was looking for something as well, little darting glances into every alley and doorway, pausing at the cross streets to peer down them

 'No idea,' Thighbreaker replied. 'Looks like a barkeeper.'

 'Lets find out what's up then,' O' Day said, while he was a good copper, the prospect of a free beer wasn't something to pass up.

The barkeep glanced up the street and to the coppers surprise and immediate suspicion 3), an expression of relief crossed his face.

 'Finally,' the barkeep gasped as he huffed up to them. 'There's a bit of trouble at my pub.'

 'What kind of trouble?' Thighbreaker asked, there were many kinds of trouble and neither copper was interested in committing suicide 5). The barkeep hesitated before giving an outline of Nobby and his behaviour. The constables looked at each other before O' Day wordlessly got a line on the nearest semaphore tower and sent a message back to H.Q. After all, the first thing learnt in Detritus's school tended to be when to call in back-up.

3) People don't act like that in Ankh-Morpork, they just don't. Because that kind of behaviour means sticking your nose into other peoples business and  that is a big no-no in a city where its always possible that said nose can be torn off and eaten.4) And a person looking relieved when they see a copper is very rare indeed and usually spells trouble for said copper.

4) Unless you're a copper or some other licensed suspicious bugger.

5) It is very easy to commit suicide in Ankh-Morpork, especially if you're a copper. Examples include trying to stop Chrysophrases gang from robbing places, trying to catch Chrysophrases gang after they've robbed places and trying to hold Chrysophrases gang after they're been caught for robbing places. As well as minor things like traffic control, solving murders, uncovering conspiracies, stopping gang wars and entering pubs to end fights. That doesn't mean that they don't do all these things and more besides, it just means that legally, they're commiting suicide by doing it. But the upside is, they get paid more for it.

==========================================================================================================

Captain Carrot knocked on the Commanders door and entered to see Vimes slapping on his helmet and lighting a cigar, clearly on his way out.

 'If its anything to do with the City or anything not to do with being home for my son waking up,' Vimes warned. 'Then I don't want to hear about it.' Vimes's irregular work hours meant that he was rarely home to put young Sam to bed but it was a bad day for everyone when he couldn't be there when he woke up.

 'Its Nobby sir,' Carrot said. 'A semaphore was sent here by Thighbreaker and O' Day, asking for help.' Vimes stopped and looked at Carrot.

 'How many know?'

 'Me, the gargoyle, Thighbreaker. O' Day the Barkeep and Nobby.'

 'Have a message sent back that they're not to do anything,' Vimes said after a minute. 'I'll sort it out.' And gods help Nobby when he comes back from leave

==========================================================================================================

Nobby himself knew little of this, barely glancing up when the barkeep came back, did even less when someone sat on the stool next to him. Not even the fact that the unknown person ordered fruit juice got through. Vicious memories had him caught up.

 'Nobby,' Vimes said after a while.

 'Mister Vimes,' was the reply.

 'What's happening here then?' Vimes said calmly, as if Nobby was heading at a crime scene he had just arrived on and needed to be brought up to scratch.

 'Just another domestic disturbance,' Nobby sighed.

 'Any priors?' The silence that question evoked stretched on for so long that Vimes was about to try a different tack before Nobby spoke.

He spoke of Sconner and his ever-present anger that could be sparked into incoherent rage by the mere presence of anyone but particularly his son. He spoke of the constant fear that kept him out for days on the streets getting enough jewellery and money to go home, not even daring to spend a few pennies on food. He spoke of those terrifying times when he presented his "earnings" to Sconner followed by both intense relief and an odd sense of gratitude when he got enough or agonizing pain when he didn't. And he spoke of other, darker things that Vimes hadn't even suspected.

 'I remember celebrating whenever he got dragged off to the Tanty,' Nobby said, sucking hard on his last dog-end, fingers shaking. 'But mum didn't. I asked her why not and she said that he'd come back sooner or later, he always did. I didn't care too much then, you never think about the future when you're a kid.' Nobby stared into his pint, despite his current alcohol to body mass ratio, his speech was clear and so was his head. 'But when the messenger came and I told her what he said, she stated laughing. She laughed so hard that she was crying then pulled me around the kitchen in a jig.' Nobby smiled suddenly. 'I didn't even know she could dance. She threw a party, just pulled all this money and jewellery out of the floorboards and got everyone in the street to come over and spent the next two days laughing and dancing and having the best time of her life.' Nobbys smiled failed. 'Making up for lost time I guess. Buried her up at Small Gods a week later, still had a smile on her face.'

 'Where's Sconner?' Vimes asked.

 'Rotting in Hell.' Vimes didn't comment on this completely un-Nobby like statement and simply ordered another round from the new – the first ones shift had ended and he had reluctantly left – barkeep who was preoccupied by a drunk sobbing into his shirt.

 'I thought I was over, it,' Nobby said quietly after the new pint arrived and the barkeep left. 'Even the nightmares were gone. Then I woke up this morning and realized what day I was heading into.'

 'And then the domestic,' Vimes finished. Nobby nodded slowly.

 'Yep, good old Grimes.' Nobby downed the end of his old pint and pulled the new one to him. Now the drink was starting to show.

 'I guess,' he said, swaying ever-so-slightly on his stool. 'I never really got that he was dead, you now? Like, I was just waiting for him to come out of the shadows some night and,' his voice trailed off. 'I guess what mum said about him always coming back got to me more than I thought. And tonight.' Nobby took Vimes's offered cigar automatically, but his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't light it. 'Tonight I nearly froze completely, nearly went back to that little boy who was terrified of Sconner cos I saw him in Grimes.' Nobby paused and thought about that last sentence. 'I must be more drunk than I thought, did I make any sense there?'

 'A little,' Vimes shrugged, smiling slightly.

 'Oh well,' Nobby smiled, then sighed so hard that his toast-rack chest nearly filled the breastplate of his uniform. 'But I looked around Grimes and damn-near through window, and my mum wasn't the woman crying on the floor. And I wasn't the little lad screaming in the corner and the bastard who did it wasn't Sconner.' Nobby rubbed his face, he was getting tired, but he wanted to finish, he had to.

 'Did it make it better?'

 'Yes, and no. Realizing that made me able to hurt Grimes.' Automatic coppering filtration systems erased the word "hurt" from the conversation. 'And stop him. But I cant hurt Sconner anymore and I could never stop him.'

 'You were only a boy,' Vimes began.

 'Exactly.' Nobby drank the rest of his pint and stubbed out the cigar, stowing the rest away. 'Just a young boy.' He got up from his stool and turned to Vimes. 'Old Rick and Thin Don are blagging Gimlet Thundergusts place Thursday night.' Vimes didn't ask if he was sure, if Nobby didn't think it worth mentioning, he wouldn't have mentioned it.

 'Cheers Nobby,' he said instead. 'Will I see you Thursday?'

 'Maybe not,' Nobby replied, then smiled. 'But I'll see you.' Nobby picked up his helmet and turned to leave. 'Thanks Mister Vimes,' he said at the door.

 'Anytime Nobby, anytime.'     

=========================================================================================================

The day had properly begun before Sir Samuel Vimes finally arrived at his home. He went around to the dragon pens at the back of the house, wanting to see his wife.

 'Sam,' he heard Sybil exclaim. 'Don't do that!' then the familiar sound of a dragon blowing itself up. Sam looked around the corner to see Sybil Vimes née Ramkin, Duchess and richest woman in Ankh-Morpork with arguably the most prestigious ancestry in the lands around the Circle Sea, wearing a tweed skirt Wellingtons and a ragged shirt, picking dragon skin off their nine month old son whose hair was now frazzled. 'You are just like your father,' Vimes heard her scold with a smile on her face.

 'That's an awful thing to say to the poor kid,' Sam said, going over to her. 'You'll give him a complex saying things like that.' Sybil raised an eyebrow at him.

 'Well? He's got to face it sometime.' Vimes took their wriggling son and to the utmost surprise of both of them, gave his wife an enormous hug, in full view of the Interchangeable Emmas. 'What was that for?' she asked when he let go. 'Not that I mind or anything.'

 'I just realized that I have a lot to be thankful for,' Sam told her, looking at his son who was making faces in his fathers breastplate and laughing. Sybil smiled and kissed him.

 'Ask the cook to put the kettle on,' she said. 'Ill be in in a few minutes.' Vimes nodded and turning, went in the scullery door to the kitchen, bouncing young Sam as went.

He found Wilkins in the kitchen, having a cup of tea. 'Hold Sam a moment,' Vimes said, handing his son to the butler before he re-filled the kettle and put it on the range to boil.

 'And what are your plans for today sir?' Wilikins asked while tickling young Sam to make him squeal and wriggle in delight.

 'Spending it with my family,' Vimes told him, taking Sam back and whooshing him around like a bird.

Wilikins watched the scene for a few moments before getting up as quietly as only good butlers can and leaving the room. He gently closed the door and stood for a moment, listening to the sound of father and son laughing together, before going about his duties with a smile on his face.

===========================================================================================================

Nobby was lying stretched out on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He smiled suddenly as he remembered his mother dancing in the kitchen and laughed out loud when he remembered the look on her face when he walked in on her and Mister MacDowell from down the road, a man she had fancied for years and was now able to go after and with a vengeance. And with that good memory, he succumbed to the drink and tiredness and fell asleep, a small smile staying about his lips for the night.  


End file.
